Postpartum Anxiety

One mom’s story:

I didn't take my baby to a restaurant until he wasn't a baby, technically, any longer.

About 14 months after he was born, I was starving, forgot to bring a snack for myself while out running household errands, and it would still be hours before I would be back home with the rush hour traffic. My child was happy, and seemingly unbothered by the fast-paced world, the tedious safety straps of his car seat, or of any logistical conundrums of needing to change a diaper in a place with no changing station. Thankfully, he is a relatively go-with-the-flow sort of kid.

But even with 14 months of proof that we could weather the public, and even be out in it, the internal strain with each choice of where to shop, how long we would be gone, where he would end up napping, if that would throw off his other naps, how many bottles to bring, how much milk, diapers, extra clothes... it was exhausting every time regardless of any help or support that was supposed to be present.

The pinnacle of mental gymnastics was anytime any friend, or family member made a suggestion to meet up for a bite to eat to catch up, or traditional special meals out to celebrate a new round of birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays.

My husband couldn't understand why I would get agitated by an invitation. He couldn't understand why, even though I wanted to go, I really really really didn't want to go. He didn't understand and couldn't see, nor could anyone else, how I would not talk at these meals, that I was hesitant to let someone else take my son for a walk about the restaurant when he got fussy, or as a way to "let me eat my meal in peace."

There was no peace for me in these places.

From the moment of packing the diaper bag to pulling back into the driveway at the end of the evening, I was coiled to react.

But react to what? I could logically understand that babies cry, they make messes, and that my friends and family knew that when they invited us.

But each time he would pound silverware onto breakable dishes, or reach for a too-full glass of ice water, or fling food around simply because his hands were moving all the time, I could see the next worst scenario. The loud crash and broken dinnerware, water rushing all over the table cloth and undoubtedly someone's lap, or other random restaurant-goers being met by splatters of food they didn't order.

My brain wouldn't shut off. My food was tasteless if I ate any of it at all. My eyes searched my husband's- hoping to make the kind of eye contact that let him know I was ready to make the first acceptable get-a-way.

My brain wouldn't shut off, my shoulders would be tight and high by my ears, and I felt utterly alone with all the extra work I carried around.

My brain wouldn't shut off, and I somehow felt the need to both protect my son from the judgment that is common to children and protect the other diners from having their experience diverted to the hysterics of a child in a new environment.

But at 14 months, I ate in a restaurant with my son. I ordered a sandwich and soup, put him in a wooden highchair, and sat across from the only person who could have convinced me this was a good idea.

We slid into the booth sides, and I said, "This is the first time I'm eating in a restaurant with him of my choosing."

"What?"

"Yeah. This is the first time. I've either stayed home with him when everyone goes out, or we don't go, or we go, and we leave quickly. I am having a hard time even now that we're here."

"What feels hard?"

"I'm thinking about how I should have ordered my food to go, so if we need to hurry out of here, I can pack everything up quickly and not bother anyone."

"Hmmm. Ok. I am really glad you are here eating with me then. This is a big deal."

I started crying.

I didn't know I needed to hear that.

I didn't know it was a big deal, but yes, it was a big deal.

That memory has stayed with me for a very long time.

It wasn't until I had my friend with me that day, a person who really sees the world, that I could see what was significant. It wasn't that I had taken my son out and that he perfectly behaved or that the world didn't melt around me, but that the BIG was that I wasn't expected to do anything, or feel anything different. That it was ok to feel so strongly.

She saw it was a big deal. And she asked me to share when I would have more feelings through the meal so she could be with me while I had them.

So I did. I shared about the mess, the spills, and having the only high chair, and she just said over and over, I can see that this makes you feel very anxious. And then she would ask, "do you see your son's face? Do you see how happy he is to be here with us?"

And I could see it.

And she asked, "Why is it your job to make other people comfortable?"

And she asked, "What is the worst possible thing that you could imagine happening next?"

And she asked, "And if that happened, would anything really be wrong?"

It really was something.

I could take a deep breath.

I could sit back in the booth.

I could taste my food.

I will never forget the kindness my friend offered me that day. I will always remember how she helped me be a person in a hard moment and honor the anxiety that was a part of me for so long that kept getting swept aside.

If you have a story that you would like to share with other mothers please contact me. I would love to post your story as well!